


It's selfish, really.

by slashattack (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Death, Emotional, M/M, Sad, headcannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/slashattack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The supernatural are no longer chasing Dean- why would they need a retired hunter? He's growing old, desperately in love with his angel. </p>
<p>Old!Dean and EternallyYoung!Cas towards the last stretch of their time together. How can they stay together? Is their love eternal?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's selfish, really.

**Author's Note:**

> It might be sad, depends how you read it. I was feeling moody and thought this would help. This is my first fic posting on here, I hope you enjoy it. I would love feedback so I know roughly what I'm doing on here. Thanks very much!

'Dean?' Cas walked slowly into the room with two cups of coffee. His hands were shaking slightly as the heat scalded his palms. Dean leaned forward in his chair, wrapping his fingers around his mug to warm them. 'Thanks Cas.' He said, the corners of his mouth curling upwards as he peeked at him over the rim of his drink. They looked at each other, Dean's eyes crinkling as he softened, melting in the wake of his angel. Cas laughed, 'You're cute when you do that.' Dean's eyes widened. He ran his fingers through his greying hair as he turned his face slightly to the side, blushing. 'Do what?' He replied. Cas leaned forward, his trench coat rubbing against the raw fabric of his chair. 'The smile. That little half-smile you do. It's one of my favourite human expressions.' Dean snorted, spilling his coffee over his fingers. He quickly set it down on the table. Laughing raucously, he leaned back into the squishy leather chair. His laughter, though joyous, soon turned to wheezing. A hacking cough spread through him ,shaking his body as he threw himself back and forth. Cas lunged forward and passed him a tissue, readying his palm to touch Dean's forehead. His movements were military, rehearsed. His eyes were soft, loving and sad. Dean was growing old. 'No Cas!' Dean drew a deep intake of breath, shaking as he held in his fit. His eyes clouded. He spluttered for a moment and then swallowed and began to breathe normally again. Looking away from Cas' he reached for the tissue that the angel, with his steady stance, offered him. He blew his nose. 'I'm sorry.' He said, after a few minutes. 'I'm just... not used to losing my independence. I- it's hard to get old.' He scrunched up the tissue in his hand, his knuckles whitening as he twisted the fibres between his fingers. Cas leaned back in his chair, an innocence no man that old should bear crossing his face. 'Especially...' Dean started, his voice cracking, 'When you're not growing old with me.' Cas looked up, their eyes meeting. The startling, vivid green and the piercing blue. They were both filled with such compassion and love. Dean bowed his head again. 'So it's hard-' he said, blinking the tears back as he tried not to let it show in his voice, 'to see you do things for me, when I should be doing things for you too.' Cas reached out his hand, placing it on top of Dean's wrinkled hands in his lap. 'I won't do it again, Dean.' He rubbed his thumb over the back of the other man's hand, tracing impressions in his skin. He looked at Dean, softening. 'What?' Dean asked, puzzled at the expression on the angels face. 'I'm counting the stars in your eyes.' Castiel replied.

~ five hours later ~

That night, when they were in bed and Dean was asleep, Cas pressed his hands into the ex-hunter's shoulder blades. He soothed the pain from his achy joints, healing him in the way only an angel could. He touched his forehead, clearing up Dean's cough as best he could. He wrapped his arms around him, hugging him closer to breathe in his musk. He curled his body around Dean's shape, taking in the warmth from his skin. He liked these moments, when he could close his eyes and just pretend- even for a moment- that they had all the time in the world. Time is curious for an angel- it goes on forever and ever, lasting for all eternity, but as soon as you find something worthwhile to latch onto it disappears. It runs through your fingers like sand, slipping away before you realise exactly how fond you were. Cas swallowed, savouring the moment. He rubbed his hand along Dean's stomach, feeling the age that had come upon him. He was still muscly and defined, but no longer soft with youth. Dean began coughing in his sleep, shaking as he threw his chest back and forwards. Cas pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead, clenching his jaw. The coughing subsided, and Dean's normal breathing returned. This happened often, the nightly fits, the saving. Cas knew Dean didn't like him doing it, but he tried his best when his partner wasn't looking. He sighed, hugging into the man's body again. At times like these, he wished he wasn't an angel.

~ two days later ~

'Dean?' Cas asked questioningly, dropping the shopping bags onto the floor of the bunker. He stood still, watching. Dean paced through the door, livid, his eyes pricking. 'She thought you were my son.' He threw his jacket on the ground. 'She was only making conversation.' Dean wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. 'My son.' He sat down on the floor in the center of the room, wrapping his arms around his legs in a position much younger than he was. 'She doesn't know anything.' Cas reassured him. Dean didn't reply, his head hung down, his hair thinning in the middle. Cas walked over to him, sitting down by his side. Dean looked up at the angel. 'You stay young. I know that. That's the deal. You're an angel and you stay young and I'm a human and I grow old and that's just the way it is.' He spoke hurriedly, choking his words out. 'I knew that. I've always known that... But why do you stick around, Cas? What good am I anymore?' Dean looked up into his eyes, trying painfully to hold from sobbing into his shoulder. After a long moment Cas replied. 'Dean, you were the first human soul I ever saw. You were pure and white and bound in hell, fighting for your life. In that moment, I didn't think you would ever be so beautiful again. I was wrong. I've known you for a great deal of time now. You're the last thing I want to see before I close my eyes at night; not the stars, not god, not anything else but you. You're the reason I get up every morning. You're the definite anchor in this sea of unreliability because I know I can count on my hunter. You keep me sane, Dean. You keep me whole. It's selfish, really. I stay by your side because you make me feel the way I never have before. You make my heart beat. So you can grow old and grey and haggard... But you'll never stop being that beautiful soul. I'll never leave you, not ever. You will always be important, to me.' He finished, looking down at Dean. He leaned forward, pressing his lips carefully onto the other man's. He held for a moment, kissing him gently. Dean locked his fingers into Cas's, gripping him tightly. They breathed into each other, holding onto the warmth before parting. 'Until the end?' Dean asked, tears spilling rapidly down his cheeks as he smiled, bleary eyed, through the pain in his back and the love in his heart that was splitting him in two. Cas squeezed his hand tighter, as they sat on the cold flagstone, bags forgotten, tangled up in each other. 'Until the very end.'

~ one week later ~

It was probably because of that night, when they lay all night on the floor, cuddling, that Cas was okay with it. They'd stayed together, rarely speaking, except to laugh and reminisce about old times. There had been a quiet moment, when they spoke of Sam's death. Neither of them had ever gotten over that, not really, though Cas knew Dean burned for him every day. They'd huddled, kissing and quietly breathing in each other's presence. They were counting the stars in each other's eyes. They were caressing the burns and the cuts and marks. Dean hadn't let Cas remove them, and in a way Cas was pleased. The imperfections were a part of Dean. Cas had touched the lines on Dean's forehead. He loved each and every one. They were proof of their being together, proof that he'd seen Dean grow old and loved him all this time. That night, the night of gentle, overwhelming, eternal, burning, indifferent love made it okay. So when Dean passed a week later, Cas was alright. He'd held Dean's hand, whispering into his ear, 'Until the very end.' And it was. The very end. The last chapter in a sequence of unbelievable adventures. He wasn't coming back, not this time. Cas made his peace with it, made his peace with closing the cover on their journey. Because when a man entered heaven, with chaos and evil and death and pain forgotten, an angel was there to take his hand, and count the stars in his eyes.


End file.
